The White-Haired Recluse (4)
"Eek, eeeeek?!"
Si-ho leaped back and plastered herself against the wall.
What, wh-what the hell? How...?!
How had he gotten this close without her noticing? There hadn't been even the slightest scent.
Si-ho, her face drained of color, sucked in another deep breath. But still, not a trace of bloodlust wafted from the boy. That left two possibilities. Either he had no ability to harm her at all, or no intention to.
The first case reminded her of Genzaburo. With his level of skill, threatening Si-ho's life had been all but impossible, so she'd only caught his faint blood scent when he was right in her face. The other ronin had been the same. If they'd been even a bit stronger, the smell would have hit her from farther away, and she'd have avoided them easily. Their pitiful threat level, barely above a poisonous mushroom, was what had led to the disaster.
B-But this close... no scent at all...?
Even Genzaburo had given off a very, very faint whiff up close. But this boy? Nothing, even pressed right up against her. What the hell was he?
Si-ho glared up at him with suspicion-filled eyes.
"Ah, sorry if I startled you. That wasn't my intention..."
The boy bowed apologetically, flustered but sincere.
"I was just eating alone and feeling a bit lonely, so I wanted to ask if you'd join me."
He flashed an awkward smile. In truth, he had no idea the ragged old man before him was the source of that mysterious sound he'd been seeking. He'd just pitied the pathetic figure and made up an excuse to buy him a meal.
Izuki sighed at the rags Si-ho called clothes.
Maybe get him some new ones after we eat.
He'd accumulated quite a bit of gold and goods as thanks for driving off those bandits. He'd refused, but the villagers had insisted. As the scion of a prestigious sword school, he didn't need the money anyway—it was better off going to those in real need.
But Si-ho couldn't know that. Instead, her paranoia exploded: He's drugging the food for something sinister. Gotta ignore him and slip away. Luring with food? That's kid stuff for preschoolers...
Just as Si-ho measured the angle for escape—
Grrrrumble.
Her stomach roared loud enough to wake the neighborhood.
"......"
"......"
The boy kept smiling, pretending not to notice out of consideration. Si-ho crammed her flushed face under her sedge hat in mortification.
After a brief silence.
"Well, I know a great place. This way, if you please..."
Izuki naturally took the lead, guiding her. The sedge hat bobbed silently in agreement and shuffled after him hesitantly.
✿
Everyone probably figured it out already, but Si-ho hadn't tagged along just because free food sounded nice. No scent meant he was weaker than Genzaburo-level weaklings, so if he tried anything funny, she could blow his head off anytime. The possibility he meant no harm and that's why no scent? Zero percent—not even considered. To Si-ho, humans were always raving maniacs brimming with urges to torment and kill others.
"Here, dig in."
Izuki reached boldly for the bubbling tofu hot pot. He'd chosen it after seeing Si-ho drool in the alley.
...No blood scent so far.
Still wary to the end, Si-ho hesitantly scooped a careful sip of broth.
"......!!!"
The spoon slipped from her frozen hand.
Umami.
The fifth taste, beyond sweet, bitter, sour, salty.
A flavor that clings to your tongue.
Often described as "rich and savory," this taste had only recently been recognized by humanity. It was 1908. Tokyo University chemistry professor Kikunae Ikeda wondered about the "deep, profound flavor" in seaweed, seafood, or meat broths. After long research, he identified its source as glutamic acid and named it umami. Soon after, he extracted and crystallized it from kelp—the soul of modern seasonings, the first MSG (monosodium glutamate).
"...U-Ughhh."
The kelp broth melted into the hot pot unleashed its intense umami. Transcending era and nationality, Si-ho confronted a taste like her mother's cooking (MSG-loaded) and burst into tears.
"...?!"
Izuki panicked at the sudden snotty tears. But then he understood the rootless old man's anguish and hung his head in sorrow.
How tough must life have been, wandering the streets alone in his frail old age during these hard times?
Izuki's heart ached as he bowed his head.
Is it right to shove someone this vulnerable back onto the streets?
A single meal, new clothes—mere band-aids. Even piles of cash would just paint a target on him for thieves.
The real fix is...
Giving this helpless old man a proper place. Izuki watched Si-ho wolf down the tofu, nose to plate, with sad eyes.
"Haaah... fuuuuaaa..."
Soon after, Si-ho slumped, tongue-scraped clean. How long since she'd felt full? Chewing grass hadn't cut it; she'd even eaten her bug roommates back at the ruin.
"Hope it suited your taste."
Si-ho nodded furiously at Izuki's words. He gave a wry smile and rose.
"Elder. If you're open to it, would you visit our dojo?"
Izuki broached casually.
"We're hiring a handyman at the Hokushin Ittoryu Present Branch. I'd love an experienced elder like you. I could recommend you."
Hard for modern sensibilities, but back then, strangers often hooked each other up with jobs. Mostly menial labor, of course.
"Shall I guide you there too?"
Izuki stood with a bright smile. Beside him, a swordsman murmured quietly.
"Sit."
Frozen.
Not just Izuki. The air. Breath. Time. Everything halted.
Izuki slowly turned in the frozen time. A stranger sat silently beside them now.
...When did he...?
Si-ho and Izuki's eyes widened in unison.
No presence at all.
N-No scent either.
Even now, right beside them.
No presence. No scent.
"...!"
Izuki's hand darted to his sword hilt.
Thud.
A hand on his hilt—not his own. The stranger's.
"Enough."
"Draw, and everyone dies."
In that instant, a blood stench fouler than any she'd known—glaringly vivid red—assailed her.
Si-ho clamped her mouth instinctively. Gut-wrenching nausea. Twisting innards. Buckling legs, spinning vision. Memories buried deep, ones she never wanted to recall from her past life, dragged up forcibly.
"...N-No... hate it."
Deathly pale and trembling, Si-ho placed her hand on her hilt.
The swordsman sighed softly.
"I said everyone dies."
The anti-shogunate's top assassin. Swordsmanship at its zenith, stepping into the divine realm—called the Sword God, Kenshin.
He placed his hand on his hilt, as if helpless.
I wanted to talk... but it ends like this.
His mission: assassinate Si-ho. Eliminate all threats to the anti-shogunate forces. That was the Sword God's role.
Yet this time, he hadn't struck immediately. Curiosity at the unprecedented power? Or that otherworldly, alien presence?
Pointless thoughts now.
No questions asked.
The white-haired elder's hand on her hilt said as much.
...Pity.
As Kenshin thought that—
His head exploded.